Boston Avant-Garde 6: Chiaroscuro (16 page)

It took an effort for Owen to remain concealed and hide his presence. Raw instincts demanded he charge in and make the man confess everything he knew, but that wasn’t going to get them anywhere. Yet.

Whatever Meecham was doing, he was obviously satisfied with the results. He clasped both hands together and made a gesture at each of the four compass points before stepping out of the house’s foundation and hurrying back down the road toward his car.

Owen waited until the birds picked up their song to check out the scene. He emerged from the trees with no noise and approached what appeared to be an altar of some kind. Dawn was fast approaching, and there were streaks of pink and orange in the indigo sky. The surrounding vegetation had reclaimed the exterior of the old structure. Grass, small berry bushes, and a few sapling trees covered the yard. The small rectangular area someone had once called home was completely devoid of growth. It was all the starker because of this distinct difference.

Discordant vibes resonated through the air around the space. The hair on the back of Owen’s neck stood on end, and he felt an overwhelming urge to put as much distance between his soul and this place as he could. It felt like evil incarnate.

Forcing himself to remain just outside the crumbling front door, Owen memorized every last detail he could see from his position in the yard. A circle had been chalked onto the old stone floor. It was etched with designs reminiscent of the Wheel of the Year that Mattie’s unwelcome visitor had left on her hawthorn tree. An altar had been built in the old fireplace. It was overflowing with Samhain offerings. He saw a typical array of apples, gourds, and some herbs. There was also a blackened lump of something that appeared to be animal in origin. Considering the probable source, it was likely a goat.

Owen exhaled slowly, releasing the pent-up tension in his muscles with effort. He had a strong suspicion he’d just found the site of Daniel Hyde’s Samhain ritual. It looked as though Owen, Jason, and Jason’s minions were going to be camped out in the four smaller circles etched onto the floor while Hyde and his posse performed some kind of power ritual in the larger one.

Not this Indian boy. Not in this lifetime or the next.

And there was no way in hell Owen was letting Hyde get Mattie anywhere near this place. It would’ve been nice if they could just destroy the whole thing and be done with it, but Owen wasn’t that stupid. A place that reeked of that kind of power couldn’t be dismantled in the usual way. It was going to take a dump-truck load of salt and some serious medicine to accomplish that.

* * * *

Beneath the covers, Mattie trembled like a toddler hiding from the boogeyman. She’d been lying awake for what felt like hours. Rolling to her side, she noted it actually
had
been hours. It was almost five a.m., and she hadn’t slept a wink. She’d worked on a few commissioned paintings the evening before, trying to calm her mind enough for sleep. Apparently she should’ve just pulled an all-nighter.

Her nerves were shot. It made her skin crawl to think of Hyde putting hexes on her or cursing her descendants with the kind of evil that had plagued the English family since the hysteria of 1692. A noise outside made her dive under a pile of pillows. She could’ve sworn she heard a car roar past on the old track that led to the tumbledown colonial up the road. What if her yard creep was using the space to park his car while he prowled around her property?

She took a shaky breath, and forced herself to be a grown-up. She’d been living out here all by herself for years without any uninvited visitors, other than the occasional lost tourist. She got up and swung her feet over the side of the bed. Once she was certain she wasn’t going to fall over, she peered out the window into the yard.

I need a dog. A really mean one.

It wasn’t as if her cat was going to protect her from much. From her window, she could see Van Gogh sitting on an old stump, washing his face. Suddenly a man walked out of the forest. Van Gogh quit washing and stood up to greet the newcomer. Mattie’s heart leaped into her throat and a shot of adrenaline left her knees watery. Then the man gazed up at her window as if he knew she was there.

Lars.

Even in the eerie half-light of dawn, Mattie knew his build. Not bothering to throw on a wrap over her sleep shorts and baby tee, she took the stairs at a run. Her bare feet skidded on the warped wood floor, but she made it to the back door anyway.

She scrambled to slide the bolt and flung open the door just as Lars stepped onto her porch. Mattie threw herself at him, relieved for some reasons that were obvious and even more she couldn’t name.

She wrapped her arms around his neck and tangled her fingers in his messy dark hair. He smelled so good, familiar. She buried her face against his shoulder to drink in the scent of sandalwood and vanilla and all things male and yummy.

His chest moved when he chuckled. “I’m not sure what I did to deserve this kind of welcome. Last I knew, you were pissed at me.”

“I’ve been so scared all night long,” she whispered against his neck. “I keep hearing things.”

He began backing her toward her door. “Let’s go inside away from prying eyes. Owen will be here in a minute.”

Her stomach did an unpleasant flip-flop as her earlier fears about Hyde prowling around outside came roaring back. Lars was here with Owen. What did that mean? Where did that leave her? And at the moment was she really in a position to care? She was scared out of her wits, and she was relieved they were here.

Lars closed the door but didn’t slide the bolt. He led her over to the worn sofa and pulled her down beside him. “What’s got you so scared, love?”

The softness in his tone nearly undid her. She hated it, but she was totally the kind of girl to go all squishy inside when a guy called her baby or love. She couldn’t help it. Taking a shaky breath, she tried to sound normal. “I haven’t seen any evidence of anyone around since the stupid piece of parchment, but I keep feeling like someone is watching me. It’s been driving me out of my mind all night. Then a few minutes ago, I heard a car. Was that you?”

He took her hands in his and lifted them to his mouth, brushing a kiss over her knuckles. “No. I found a car parked a ways north of your property.”

“Near the burned-out house?” Mattie couldn’t imagine who’d be back there. Teenagers looking for a place to drink maybe?

There was a soft scratching noise at the door, and Mattie tensed. By now she was unhinged enough to imagine some kind of demon pushing its way into her house and trying to eat her soul. Instead, the door opened, and Van Gogh trotted in with Owen on his heels.

“I’m assuming this guy belongs here?” Owen’s voice was so blessedly
normal
that Mattie burst into tears.

Owen looked as if he might chase down Van Gogh and throw him out. “Not yours?”

“No! He is.” Mattie blubbered like an incoherent freak. “I’m just so relieved you’re both here.”

Owen glanced at Lars for an explanation. Lars gave him a loaded expression in return. Mattie wished she knew what they were saying but not saying. Lars cleared his throat instead. “Mattie feels like someone has been watching her, and she heard a car a few minutes ago.”

Without waiting for an invitation, Owen nudged his way onto the sofa at her other side. It wasn’t a large seat, but she was plenty glad to be sandwiched between their warm bodies. For the first time in hours, she began to unwind. No matter the emotional ups and downs, if they were here, she was physically safe. Her heart was another matter.

Owen cupped her cheek in the palm of one hand. “Lars found out that the car parked out on the dirt road belongs to a guy named Tobias Meecham.”

“Meecham?” What was that smarmy little prick doing in her woods? Why would he even come near her place? He lived in Beverly.

“Take a deep breath, baby, I’m not done,” Owen said gently. “I couldn’t tell if he was working alone or with others, but I’m suspecting Daniel Hyde is somehow involved because there’s an altar in the ruins of that old house, and it’s not the good kind.”

Her heart was thundering so fast she couldn’t hear anything but the pounding of each beat. “What sort of altar?”

“I’m going to say it’s Samhain in nature. I don’t have a lot of experience with that sort of thing.” He hesitated, his features growing almost scary as he frowned. “It feels evil.”

Lars said a few choice words. “Did you tear it down?”

Mattie knew what Owen would say, so she saved him the trouble. “He couldn’t.”

“Why the hell not?” Lars demanded.

Mattie realized she was gripping his hand so tightly she was cutting off the circulation to her own fingers. Forcing herself to calm down, she loosened her grip. “Because you can’t just tear down someone else’s altar. You don’t know what kind of stuff they’re messing with. It’s hard to explain.” She struggled to find the words, but Owen saved her the trouble.

“Lars, you could probably walk in there and dismantle it because you don’t put any faith in the kind of power you can’t see or touch.” Owen’s smile tempered his words. “But there is power in this world, whether you acknowledge it or not. I’m not talking about the wand-waving stuff. I’m just talking about what occurs naturally in the spirit realm, and pretty much everywhere in between. The occult does exist, and most of what people can access isn’t of the benevolent variety.”

Mattie gazed up at Owen, willing him to understand how much she appreciated what he’d just said. Explaining her beliefs to someone generally involved a lot of strange looks, eye rolls, or skepticism.

To his everlasting credit, Lars didn’t look the least bit weirded out. “So basically, the bad guys are much more willing to screw around with human lives than the good guys. And unless you undo whatever was done, you might be setting off some kind of spiritual booby trap?”

Owen reached behind Mattie and tousled Lars’s hair. “Actually that’s a pretty good summation.”

Mattie started to laugh but yawned instead. “I’m sorry. I was too freaked out to sleep. I’m just so tired.”

She couldn’t resist the urge to lean back against Owen’s warm bulk and tuck her bare feet beneath Lars. It was like being cocooned inside a safe bubble of yummy-smelling male goodness. Another yawn made her jaw creak.

Owen pressed his lips to the top of her head. “We have some things that have to be said, but they can wait just a little longer. Not much, but a little.”

“About what?” Mattie worked to keep her eyes open.

Owen gazed at Lars. “About us—all three of us. About what’s really going on and what’s going to happen in the future.”

“I’m not sure I want to talk about that,” Mattie said honestly. “You two are perfect together. I know that already. I can see it.” She was so tired. Her mind was muddled as she struggled to hang on to the real world. Her psyche was already drifting into the land of dreams where she could say anything without fear of judgment. “I’m sick of loving people who don’t love me back. I just want to pretend you’re both mine for a little longer. Please?”

Owen’s voice seemed to come from the direction of heaven. “You don’t have to pretend anymore, baby. Just rest.”

Chapter Thirteen

Mattie emerged slowly from sleep. Her bed was deliciously warm. It was tempting to sink back into unconsciousness for just a little longer. When she dreamed, it was possible to imagine she wasn’t alone. She could fantasize about a man who would love her, be her partner, raise children with her, and not leave.

“Good morning, love.” Lars’s sleep-roughened voice nearly caused her to leap out of her skin.

Her eyes snapped open, and last night’s events came rushing in. She wasn’t alone. Lars was lounging in her chair with his feet propped on the mattress, and Owen’s body was generating the inferno of heat keeping her toasty warm.

She scrambled into a sitting position, trying to avoid Owen’s bulk. Not an easy task since he was hogging most of the bed. Her queen-size mattress wasn’t long enough for his big frame, so he was sprawled corner to corner on his belly. His shoulders were etched with muscles, tapering to a sleek torso and a dip at the base of his spine that hinted at his exquisitely formed ass.

“Beautiful, isn’t he.” Lars’s words were more comment than question.

Mattie’s fingers itched to touch him. She longed to run her fingers through Owen’s thick black hair and smooth it away from his handsome face. He looked vulnerable in sleep, less like a statue and more like a man.

“I’ve never seen him sleep this deeply before,” Lars remarked. He gave her too-small bed a rueful look. “We took turns, for obvious reasons, but also to make sure there were no uninvited visitors. Owen was only supposed to let me sleep for two hours but gave me four instead.”

Lars appeared uncomfortable, as if he’d shirked his duty. Mattie had the thought that it must be exhausting to be constantly trying to live up to an unnecessarily lofty set of expectations.

“What?” he asked. “You’re staring.”

She had absolutely nothing to lose and maybe even nothing to gain, so why not just tell him what she thought? “I was just thinking that it would make me crazy to spend my whole life trying to be who everyone else wanted me to be.”

“Meaning?”

She frowned. What did she mean exactly? “When I first met you, you were running yourself ragged trying to make sure Selena was safe and happy. Your investigation consumed your whole life and you seemed”—she searched for the right word and came up blank—“resigned, I think. It was like you enjoyed working for Interpol, but it’s just a job. And Aasen International is the same way. You’re just okay with it.”

He actually looked amused, but there was something else lurking beneath the sarcastic slant of his brows. “It’s a job. Being passionate about it isn’t a requirement.”

“No, but it makes life a hell of a lot better.” Mattie wished she could make him understand. “What are you passionate about, Lars?” Her gaze drifted toward Owen’s sleeping form. “Aren’t you passionate about him?”

“Is that what you keep waiting to hear?” His expression was utterly devoid of emotion. She couldn’t tell anything about what he might be thinking or feeling. He cocked his head, penetrating her with his gaze until she wondered if he could see her bare soul. “We’re not all like you, Mattie. Not all of us want a home and a family. Nor are we willing to lay ourselves bare to get it.”